Sole Survival Objective
by comete
Summary: The ghoul absorbed everything that Deacon radiated. The mystery, the carefulness, the charisma. Atom above, he was completely captivated and infatuated by whatever and whoever Deacon was. Chapter one is plot, chapter two is smut.
1. Chapter 1

It was late, somewhere around the three in the morning mark if Deacon had to guess, the only sounds in Sanctuary being the occasional gear shift of a guarding turret and the persistent bitter winter wind that brought along with it small flakes of snow. Outside the world was dark, illuminated only by the crescent moon and select spotlights they had built around the high cement walls that kept out the rest of the Commonwealth.

Most nights Deacon's internal clock allowed him to sleep soundly until morning, most times not a single stir in the night that would raise any alarms, but Deacon had sat straight up when he heard the creak of the floorboards in the living room of his home.

Well, Quinn's home.

Their home?

Deacon blinked a few times to adjust his unshaded eyes to the darkness of the room, squinting as he did a quick assessment of the bedroom. No Quinn, it seemed. Deacon reached out to the right side of the queen-sized bed to confirm, feeling under the empty covers where his companion (Boyfriend? Partner? Fuckbuddy?) typically slept. The bare spot was cold, no indication of his warm body having been there in the past few hours.

Letting out a soft sigh, knowing the other man wouldn't go far from him, Deacon reached to the nightstand to his right and felt the barren top of the chipped wood side table. It was completely empty, the surface bare. His sunglasses were gone.

Eyebrows furrowing together in confusion, Deacon tossed the pale tattered comforter off of him and stood up from his place of comfort. His bones, particularly his back, popped loudly in a reminder of age that Deacon was getting at. He sounded like twenty firecrackers blew up at once.

Deacon walked around the bed, shifting his faded white t-shirt to stretch down overtop of his deep navy blue boxer briefs, yawning as he opened the cracked green painted door to the bedroom. Sure enough, the man in question was turned away from Deacon slipping on his dark brown leather combat boots. It was quite the outfit, Deacon smirked, watching as the other bent down to tie the laces. He was bare-chested, coral pink boxers with softer colored gingham stripes and a solid weathered maroon robe that was tied loosely around the waist. Of course, the man was also wearing his sunglasses. Nice.

Deacon rested his right shoulder against the doorway of Quinn's pre-war Sanctuary home, a smirk crept upon his lips as he crossed his arms and let out a cat calling whistle at the bent-over man. "You better not be lacin' up to leave after teasin' me like that, huh? Where are you going, handsome?"

Quinn jumped at the whistle, not knowing Deacon was present, but quickly eased at the level headed tone of his partner. He finished tying his laces as he scoffed at the compliment. Handsome, he felt, was used sarcastically if used by any other person in the Commonwealth. It was endearing to Quinn, however, knowing that Deacon somehow found a way to mean it. Quinn knew that Deacon genuinely thought the irradiated man was good looking. His skin was peeling and in some spots missing flesh altogether, his hair was a dark brown wig he wore every waking moment, and his eyes were clouded and pale from radiation. Yeah, he was a dreamboat.

The tall ghoul stood up straight and matched the crossed arms of Deacon, narrowing his eyebrows under the oversized sunglasses as he questioned with sass, "Ain't it past your bedtime? You must be this tall to stay up past midnight."

Quinn held his hand out for effect, his left hand pretending to be a form of measurement that was a few centimeters taller than Deacon was. Even though the ghoul was only about three inches taller, he loved to remind the smaller Deacon.

"Ha, ha, ha," Deacon overly faked a pronounced laugh, moving off of the doorway to meet Quinn next to the front door. His smile never wavered, uncrossing his arms and wrapping his warm hands over top of the maroon robed waist. He kept a few inches between them, peering up into the dark sunglasses as he asked with the question, "You aren't scheduled for guard duty tonight, so where are you going?"

Quinn bit the inside of his cheek, thinking of any excuse that sounded somewhat believable. He thought he would give the famous sunglasses a try, having seen Deacon get away with practically (and literally) murder by lying his way through situations with these particular shades on. Maybe he would have the same luck?

"Uh, I was just going to go . . . Check on the guards. It's cold."

Silence followed as they stared at each other unmoving for what felt like an hour. Deacon smiled confidently, knowing he was just lied to without a shadow of a doubt. "The best lie you could come up with was, 'Ol' Nicky Valentine is gonna freeze his lugnuts off.' Really? That was the best?"

Deacon let out a loud, unfiltered laugh as he gave Quinn a tight hug at the failed attempt of mystery. Well, okay, so it wasn't the glasses. Quinn cringed as he remembered Nick being scheduled for guard duty specifically because Sanctuary's humans were told to stay inside during the proceeding winter storm.

After Deacon's laughter subsided, leaving behind curiosity and amusement, Deacon pressed on with his friendly 'you-can-tell-me-anything' tone that charmed more people than he could recall. "But, seriously, babe, where are you goin'? It's snowing out and you're only in a robe and boots. Not that it's not hot and that I'm totally going to tear this all off of you in a few minutes, but you're not really dressed appropriately for out there. But, again, totally appropriate for in here. Lovin' the look. The shades really complete it."

Quinn couldn't help but chuckle a little in response, knowing he must've looked like a train wreck. A ghoul dressed in boots, a robe, a wig, and oversized sunglasses was definitely a rare sight. It sounded almost like a knock-knock joke. He wondered what the punchline would be.

The pre-war veteran sighed as his pale, half-blind, eyes scanned the room in thought. He might as well show Deacon his notes, the conclusion of where he had plan to have gone wasn't going to make sense without an explanation. Quinn felt like his love deserved one, after all, waking him up accidentally well into the night.

Giving a nod to himself in confirmation to show him his research, Quinn grabbed hold of a hand that was around his waist and lead Deacon to the torn red sofa with an equally damaged coffee table in front. Deacon sat on the couch and watched the ghoul silently move into the kitchen where he then opened a cabinet drawer, one that he guessed Quinn held silverware in at one time and pulled out a good thick stack of loose notebook paper that held writing and drawings on them.

"Oh, boy. What's all this?" Deacon wondered out loud when Quinn brought the stack to the wooden table in front of them and spread them out, minding the single candlelight that illuminated the room. Some of the pages had writing on them, front and back, others had sketches of different pods that held stick figure people, and others had what was a crudely drawn diagram of different gunshot wounds with notes of how they would affect the body.

Deacon hadn't been in the shared home for a few days, his first night back from a long intel-gathering stake-out on a reportedly spotted band of rogue synths. He had been gone for around four to five days, his mind questioning how long Quinn had been working on these papers. He hadn't seen any Quinn write anything since before he left, so it must have been while he was gone. By the extensiveness of the papers, Quinn must've been working on these for more than just the one night.

Quinn sat silently next to Deacon, their thighs pressed together as Quinn sat to Deacon's left. As the black-haired human reached out to pick up one of the many sheets of papers and inspect it, he heard the ghoul next to him start to explain the method of the madness. "Okay, so, you know how I was a human when I was locked in the cryopod? It wasn't sick enough that they took my family away from me, no, Vault-Tech did a little side experiment where they took trace amounts of radiation and injected it into my cryopod. The ice that froze me had radiation seeping off of it. I was a ghoul by the time I came out, right?"

Deacon nodded as he listened, shuffling through the various papers and picking up any that caught his eye. "Uh-huh. You've told me. We hate Vault-Tech, the Government, ice cubes, blah, blah, blah. What does this have to do-"

Quinn cut him off, shushing Deacon and continuing with his train of thought before he lost his place. "See, my cryopod was obstructed. Had a leak in it. I was thawed a lot sooner than I think Vault-Tech intended, but because I was a ghoul I was able to live through being only half frozen. If I was a human I would've starved to death. I don't know. Anyway, when you left, I got to thinking about life. Just, everything, you know? And I got to thinking . . . "

Deacon's eyes settled onto a paper he gingerly picked up, one of the last few that was at the bottom of the stack that he had yet to have gone through. It was a drawing of the cryopod that he had been locked away in, detailed notes that scribbled explanations of each tube and part that made up the machine. Behind the drawn glass was a dark-haired girl, eyes closed and clutching a swaddled baby. She had been sketched out as the most detailed piece of the note, not a single mistake plagued the graphite woman or her child. Above all of the notes that surrounded the cryopod, at the top of the lined paper, held a simple phrase that spoke volumes.

"It's my fault."

At this, Deacon sucked in a breath and felt his heart weigh heavy. He understood even after Quinn had trailed off. The man was blaming himself for becoming a ghoul and not having swapped cryopods with his now-deceased wife. Quinn quickly took the paper from Deacon and pointed at the cryopod, talking quickly as if someone had suddenly flipped the switch. "See, look! Right here! With the papers- the ones with the bullet hole studies, you know, she could've lived. If she took my pod- they would've shot her and taken Shaun, but she would've been healed by the irradiated ice, Deacon. She would've been healed. Ghouls are healed b-by radiation! She would've- I-"

Deacon frowned at the sudden outburst of his mentally fractured partner, letting out a single soft tsk as he latched himself around Quinn. Deacon wasn't typically a hugger, but this man clearly needed love right then.

Quinn allowed himself to be cradled by Deacon, hearing the other softly shush him in comfort while the wind outside howled louder than their local siren. Neither of them spoke, slumped against each other in the unheated house in the candlelit living room. Deacon knew Quinn was suffering from intense trauma, having known that in the months he had gotten close with him, but it was hard to tell Quinn that it was all done and over with.

How do you tell someone it's really, truly, not their fault? That they couldn't have known that a simple decision of who got left or right cryopod would decide their futures? That they were to be used in multiple awful experiments? Speaking wasn't enough, Deacon guessed, seeing how he never seemed to get through to Quinn.

Swallowing back any words that may have wanted to surface, Deacon, slowly pulled a few inches away from his boyfriend. Looking up into his reflection of his own sunglasses, wordlessly Deacon reached up and withdrew the black shades from the face of the ghoul. In response to what he saw, Deacon couldn't help but suck in a sharp breath at the display he saw.

Deep, dark circles that were surrounding Quinn's eyes indicated days without sleep. His eyes were puffy and had a sting of red to them, showing the man had been crying long before Deacon had awoken late into the evening. His only response was a mutter at the sight of his companion's health, whispering, "Oh, darlin' . . . "

Quinn was ashamed at how he had been keeping since Deacon was away. It was worry over the Railroad agent during the day and fighting to chase "what ifs" of life at night. It was a cycle he hated but had fallen accustomed to when left to his own devices.

The ghoul gave a nod and mentally blocked out the pity in Deacon's voice. He mumbled to the concerned black-haired man, closing his eyes to hide the pain that lingered behind them, "I was going to go open up her cryopod. I wanted . . . I wanted to see where she was shot. Maybe she would have survived if I had taken her pod? Maybe she was . . . shot in the heart or a lung, wouldn't have survived anyway. I don't know. I can't sleep. I needed to see her, to see if I could've prevented this. I didn't mean to wake you."

Deacon examined the man who nearly sat in his lap, watching and taking in every detail as he had been trained to do as an observer. The lines in his face screamed exhaustion and stress. No wonder Quinn had been on his fourth coffee when Deacon had arrived at noon; the man hasn't slept in days.

Placing his paled left hand onto the rough patched skin of Quinn's face, Deacon gave a soft warm smile that could light up the entire Commonwealth. "You gotta give yourself a rest, sweetheart. You've clearly have a sleep debt and going out into a snowstorm to chase after some Tinker Tom theory isn't the wisest when you're only packing boots and a robe. We both know you're super hot, babe, but it won't melt the snow. Hey, how about this: We get you some well-deserved sleep and in the morning, if the snow isn't up to Strong's neck, we can go pay Nora a visit, huh? We both can go, you and me. I'll even hang near the entrance if you just want some alone time with her, okay? You gotta get some sleep tonight, though. No more late nights. That's the deal, my final offer."

Quinn opened his tear-filled eyes to see Deacon grab both of his hands and squeeze them with tender love, confirming with a grin, "I'm here with you every step of the way. I'm following your shadow, boss."

The ghoul sniffled, smiling in response to the kind words and giving his own nod of approval at the gesture of compassion. Quinn released Deacon, reaching his radiation burnt hands to the smooth face of the other and cupping his jaw. Quinn kissed the shirtless man, leaning forward into the slow and precise shaping of their lips as they relished in the moment of domestic bliss. It was the end of the complex Old World and the start of something far more simple and direct.

No more taxes, no more 401(k)s, no more insurance policies, no more cocktail parties for rich executives, and no more telemarketer calls. It was the start of the simpleness of collaboration, loyalty, and love. It was the start of the directness of the sole survival objective. There was nothing else, nothing more. Everything that came in between was a filler of the best kind.

The kiss slowed down after a moment, lips parting away fully when they both were out of breath and exchanging small laughs between them. Forehead to forehead, they enjoyed the warmth they shared with each other. Deacon was the first to speak, offering, "How about we go to bed, hm? It'll be sunrise soon and I'm going to be seriously pissed if I don't at least get an hour of sleep snuggling with you before Sturges starts hammering away at some random fucking wall."

Quinn laughed and stood up from his place on the couch. He bent down, scooped Deacon easily into his arms, and pulled the man close to his chest as he carried the black-haired man bridal style.

Deacon let out a surprised yelp when he was picked up, but laughed as equally fast when he wrapped his arms around the neck of the ghoul, exclaiming, "Oh, my big, strong, capable man! My hero! Let's go, handsome. We need to get those boots and robe off you right now."


	2. Chapter 2

Once they arrived in the bedroom Quinn placed Deacon down onto his feet, their contacting never breaking as they went for kissing the moment he was upright. They missed each other dearly, though neither felt like it was appropriate to say it out loud. The Commonwealth heard things, they both swore, and jinxing the luck of Deacon coming back alive once more wasn't something either of them wanted to risk.

Deacon guided the taller to the foot of their queen-sized bed, Quinn allowing himself to be pushed onto the bed as they broke their heavy kiss. Deacon got onto his knees, adjusting his blue boxers as he informed, "Tonight, you let me do all the work, okay? You just relax while I take care of you. Hold the applause for the end, though. If I'm able to walk after this, I'll make sure to take a bow."

Quinn chuckled silently at the other man's joke, his bare shoulders shaking in laughter as Deacon reached up to push the open robe off of his frame and onto the bed. They often time switched positions in bed, both have their fair share of times as a top or bottom, but neither of them had a preference. It typically came down to which of the men were more desperate to be railed by the other. Tonight was no different as Deacon shuffled off the large combat boots and tossed them away in an impatient manner.

On his already reddened knees, Deacon peered up to meet eyes with a smiling sunglasses-wearing ghoul, clearly amused by the hungriness in Deacon's attitude when he threw off his white t-shirt onto the floor without a second thought. Deacon asked with sincerity from the floor, kissing up the hairless weathered skin calves, "You keepin' the wig on?"

It was an odd question for anyone not accustomed to the situation. Ghouls oftentimes wore wigs, helping them keep a shadow of normality of who they once were. The Minutemen General was no different. Narrowing his eyes with the typical heavy attitude, Quinn shot back with a proceeding smile, "Are you?"

Deacon grinned at the response, pausing the worshipping of the long legs and meeting eyes with the nearly blind ghoul. He cocked back with sarcasm of the third-degree, running his hands up the patchy skinned legs up to the thighs. "Whaaaat? Me? Wear a wig? _Je suis naturel. _This is my Atom-given full head of hair. Honest."

At that, Deacon removed his black-haired wig as Quinn did the same for his own faux hair. They sat them both aside, bald men smirking at each other. Quinn removed the sunglasses, gingerly setting them back upon Deacon's place next to the nightstand and scoffed at the response. "Uh-huh. Sure. And I'm Paladin Danse's third wife."

A frustrated moan left Deacon's lips as he cringed at the reminder of the synth/ghoul racist that lived in Sanctuary out of pity from being exiled from the Brotherhood. "Uh, babe," Deacon spoke as his hands rested on top of Quinn boxer covered thighs, "can you not bring up '_Projection-and-Repression-Danse' _right before I'm about to blow your mind?"

Quinn smirked at the nickname given to Danse, shrugging in response as he put his weight back on his hands that rested behind him, arms extending and palms flat on the bed top. "Wouldn't have to create commentary if you gave me something to shut me up."

Greenlight. At that, Deacon shimmied off his boyfriend's annoyingly bright coral boxers until they were around his ankles. Greeted with the sight of the ghoul's half awoken cock, Deacon scooted close in between Quinn's thighs till his breath could be felt. He kissed the head of the cut dick once, leaving a trail of warm pecks till he managed to work his way down to the base and back more to the top.

"Talk to me. Let me hear you."

Quinn nodded in agreement, opening his mouth to speak but found no words left when Deacon started to suck on the pink head with tenderness. A groan left his lips, followed shortly by Quinn placing his left hand on Deacon's black hair in encouragement to take in more. "God, I missed you, D. Thought about you every second. The nights . . . Well, the nights you were especially on my mind."

Deacon pulled his mouth off for a moment, eyes devious and bright as usual. "Oh, really," he whispered lowly, "tell me about those nights? I wanna hear what I do to you, handsome."

As a sly smile formed at the encouragement of the dirty tale, Quinn clicked his tongue and began to recall the lonely nights and the empty bed. Deacon wanted some dirty talk, huh? He would get some then. "I didn't even make it one night alone," Quinn breathlessly recalled as the other went back to taking his length. "I was needing you so badly, Deacon. I touched myself, fucked my own ass, rubbed my hard dick until I came to the thought of you fucking me till I couldn't breathe. I missed your hot cum in me, missed the feeling of being full of you and my ass hurting for a week after you got done nailing me. I'm a slut for you, D."

Well, that did it.

Deacon sucked on the now fully erect dick for only a moment more before he removed his lips with a satisfying pop, unable to hide his determined glimmering eyes and devilish smile. "Hands and knees, gorgeous. I'm gonna make you see stars."

At this, Quinn gave a large smile as he flipped over like requested, shoving his ass back to the end of the bed while Deacon slid off his tenting navy underwear with haste. Quinn teased with anticipation, "I thought you were going to take it easy on me tonight? I was just gonna relax? Did I get you all hot and bothered?"

Deacon spit into his own hands twice, rubbing them together and then coating his hard cock the best he could with a nod of acceptance. "Actually, yeah. I mean, I'm still going to do all the work and you're still going to have to relax so I can push in you. See? I wasn't lying! I never, ever, EVER, lie. I swear on my own mother, Ronnie Shaw of the Commonwealth Minutemen."

Quinn laughed loudly at the unexpected quip, shaking his head as he eased his face down onto the bed and rested his knees that were spread apart for Deacon. He loved Deacon and his lying mouth. Once his laughter subsided into only a few giggles, he exclaimed, "Okay, first thing? If I can't talk about Danse, you can NOT talk about that fuckin' nutcase right before you plow me. Second thing: If Ronnie fuckin' Shaw is your mother, we are never having a family Christmas. I'm sure she is the in-law from hell."

Deacon finished covering his dick in spit the best he could, adding on with a twinkle, "Well, it's a good thing me and good 'ol mom only celebrate Hanukkah. Okay, you ready? I was gonna do some prep work, but you weren't kidding about your explorations while I was gone. Geesh. You're already loose enough."

At that, Quinn scooted back just enough so the head of Deacon's blushed cock was pressing against his eager entrance. "I'm so ready, D," he grunted out. "Show me what I've been missing."

The human considered proposing right then and there but instead settled on the lesser act of sliding his spit covered dick into the tightening hole of his boyfriend. "Relax, relax, relax," he mumble chanted to the man receiving, rubbing circles into the rough skin of Quinn's hips. He was trying his best not to tighten out of forced reaction, though it was proving difficult when the initial burning pain of being stretched after a while without sex greeted him. "Trying. Maybe if you weren't so big . . . "

Deacon moved his hips slowly into the man on the bed, flat feet creaking on the floorboards. He was going slowly and eventually fully made it in till his entire cock was hidden. "Hey! Don't blame it on my guy. He's just doing his job. Maybe if you weren't so damn sexy I wouldn't even _be_ so hard right now. So, really, it's your fault."

Quinn turned his head to look over his shoulder at the proud Deacon he stood cross-armed with a triumphant smile on his face at his own comeback. Okay, how about this, then? Quinn cleared his throat and maintained eye contact with the proud man who was balls deep in him. Quinn lowered his voice down to a raspy, growly voice, and uttered, "Hey. Hey, smoothskin."

The secret boner killing weapon. The stereotypical ghoul phrase accompanied by the overly low grumbling tone? That was low, even for Quinn. "Okay, you win. Don't do the ghoul voice. I've heard waaaaaaay too many ghouls say that when I was over in the Capital Wasteland and I cannot stand here, inside of you, and be reminded of my chilling encounter with human ghoul racists. You win."

Quinn turned back to facing the headboard, now holding his own victory in his beaming smile. Deacon had nothing against ghouls, obviously, but the phrase was overused and annoying to the human who had been called a 'smoothskin' more times than he could count. He hated that word. Actually, they both did.

"And what's my prize for winning," Quinn asked while he rotated his ass in a tiny circle, gaining little friction as he felt the dick buried deep within him. It made him bite his charred lip at the feeling.

Deacon answered back with an assertive tone that gushed with confidence. "How about I show you?"

The human slowly retreated back his hips till his erection was almost fully out, then pushed back forward into the man before he was fully engulfed once more. Adjusting his stance a little wider, Quinn moved apart his thighs as a way to silently tell the man to continue. Deacon repeated the action a few more times before his movements started to gain a slight speed. Not too fast, but definitely not barely moving like he was.

"Feels great," Quinn acknowledged from near the middle of the bed, face resting on his left cheek as he let the man thrust into him without doing much work. It took a heavy amount of trust for either of them to make love with anyone, finding solace in each other that created a bond unbreakable. They were both completely naked, physically and emotionally. No wigs, no sunglasses, no hiding tattered skin behind long clothes.

They were exposed.

At the thought of this, Quinn pushed his ass back into Deacon as a way to meet him in the middle. He needed to feel Deacon completely owning him, showing him what their love meant. He wanted all of the secretive agent right then and refused to have it any other way. "Faster, D. Fuck me."

Deacon smiled knowing how badly Quinn wanted him, feeling the man squeezing down on his dick without any indication of easing up. Giving a nod of affirmation, he agreed, "Your wish is my . . . strong recommendation. Safeword is jelly."

He sped up the pace of the thrusting by a notable amount, snapping his hips back and plunging deep into the ghoul with a grunt from his own mouth. Quinn gripped the light blue comforter that rested on the bed, bundling up the blanket as it scrunched in his fists. "Fuck, Deacon, that's good. Hard, babe."

Deacon's hips moved quickly to try and satisfy the hungry sole survivor, nodding as he imprinted red nail marks into Quinn's hips from the harshness of his grip. They had passionate, slow, true 'love-making' only a few times. Often they were apart for a few days, such as this past week, and the adrenaline and misery of not knowing if the other would be alive during their return frequently fueled dirty, sinning, rough fucking. They both enjoyed the sex whatever way they could get it.

Fucking the ghoul hard, Deacon pounded the other till he was starting to sweat and gasp for air. It was difficult continuing a fast pace when the man receiving was tightening hard, proving near impossible to not cum each thrust. Deacon gasped out after a few solid minutes of no rest, "Oh, fuck me, I'm close, handsome. I-I can't last, shit, much longer. I can feel you squeezing my cock- oh, God, you love it, don't you?"

Quinn moaned into the bed, nodding, nearly in tears from the pleasure and pain he was being given. "Yes, I love being fucked, I love it so much! Keep going, don't you dare stop! Cum in me, I'm gonna- ah, fuck, yes! Deacon, fuck-"

The tightness became unbearable as Quinn reached down to his bobbing erection and jerked himself off, masturbating vigorously till cum shot out of the tip and coated his hand. Groaning with a whine, he clasped down onto Deacon's cock when he was tipped over the edge.

Helpless to stop his own orgasm, Deacon felt his breath leave him when he buried himself as deeply as he could into Quinn, cum squirting out of his dick into the far walls of the ghoul. Emptying himself in him, Deacon moved his hips barely to milk out everything he could for his lover. "That's it, D, that's so good. I love when you cum in me. God, listen to me, I'm a whore, I swear."

Deacon chuckled softly as he finished himself, pulling out of his boyfriend when his cock started to grow softer and no longer was being help imprisoned by the tightness. Being empty of Deacon's dick, Quinn flipped over onto his back and minded the mess his left hand held. Completely coated in cum, he slightly shook his hand in a teasing manner for Deacon."Oh, Lord, you made a mess, sugar. Lemme clean it up for you."

The once black-haired man crawled onto the bed, hovering his body over top of Quinn with his arms and knees supporting him from falling on top of the other. Quinn watched with eyes of lust while Deacon made slow work of taking in the ghoul's coated fingers, swallowing them to the last digit while his tongue swirled around them to clean them of the cum.

Kissing the fingertips when he was done with the task of cleanup, Deacon settled down to lay in the arms of Quinn by his side, the huffing men easing their breaths the best they could after the sex that ruined all other men for them. Deacon laid his head on his chest and swung a leg over the top of Quinn's right, listening to the fast tempo heartbeat of the ghoul with no words being lifted to the air.

It wasn't awkward, quite the opposite. They had nothing to say to each other, nothing that came to mind that was worth breaking the moment of afterglow and exposure of emotion. Not a joke, question, or comment felt worthy enough to be said and shatter the soft near silence of their breathing and the snowstorm that raged outside. The ghoul absorbed everything that Deacon radiated. The mystery, the carefulness, the charisma. Atom above, he was completely captivated and infatuated by whatever and whoever Deacon was.

They fell asleep, held tightly in each other arms as if to protect the other from whatever the Commonwealth deemed to be their next hazard.

Not a single word was said, though their lack of conversation spoke volumes of love.


End file.
